


The light of our eyes and the stars is enough

by Waistcoat35



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Cuddling, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Hurt/Comfort, It is a God-given fact, Jean can't sleep without Javert, M/M, Stubborness, These two dorks, slight crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:51:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waistcoat35/pseuds/Waistcoat35
Summary: "The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves, or rather, in spite of ourselves."- Victor HugoValjean cannot sleep without Javert by his side - the challenge is getting him to leave his work and come to bed.





	The light of our eyes and the stars is enough

**Author's Note:**

> This comes from a headcanon I posted in tumblr, and is dedicated to the user who asked me to write it, loveincrema. If you're reading this, I hope you enjoy it!

Jean lay in bed, frowning at the ceiling as a stripe of orange light poured onto his face from the hallway. He had propped the door open before climbing into bed; to sleep alone, in complete darkness - it would be too similar to all those years ago.

And yet, he was alone, even if there was a little light. Javert had not come to bed yet - it must have been at least an hour, perhaps more, since he had left the other man downstairs at his desk. He had tried every form of persuasion imaginable to get him to come to bed - asking, pleading, bribing, persuading, even raising his voice in the end. The man hadn't slept properly in three days, staying up until almost the crack of dawn and leaving shortly after with an hour of rest in between.

He had rings under his eyes that were nearing a shade of indigo, and Valjean worried. He always worried. When he raised his voice, a hand coming down on the desk harder than he had anticipated, he hadn't missed Javert's slight flinch, though he masked it with a sigh and a promise to rest just as soon as his work was done. And so, he had gone up, climbed into bed - and worried even more, this time about having actually made his lover flinch away from him. Having yelled at him.

He was the only person the inspector had ever allowed to come so close - and that was dangerous, because it also meant that he was the only person who could really, truly hurt the inspector. It had taken Javert a lifetime to open himself up, to bare himself to someone so bravely and fully, to allow himself to be touched affectionately. That little jump he gave while sitting at his desk - it felt almost like a slight, wary step backwards.

Rolling over, Valjean made up his mind. He slipped into his dressing gown and descended the stairs, taking care to avoid the creaky spots lest Javert had fallen asleep at his desk. He almost hoped the other man had done just that, because it would mean he was _resting_ , at least.

As he carefully edged his way towards the door of the study, Jean's heart sank as he heard the scratching of a pen. It would seem that Javert still had not succumbed to the throes of sleep. But he could not use blatant force again - his friend was like a feral cat plucked from the gutter. Make one too many wrong moves, let him think that he was going to be hurt, and you would not be given the chance to get close to him again.

Eventually, Valjean got up the courage to peer around the doorframe. Javert was hunched over his desk, the pen making useless scratching noises on the paper. The light of the candles danced in his eyes, and from that Jean could see that they were glazed over, not really seeing what he was writing. He could go over, but in his unfocused state Javert was all the more prone to startle. He didn't think he could take it again - being the one to scare him. Being the one to make him flinch like that.

He rapped gently on the doorframe, knowing that the usually sharp inspector was likely to pick up on the small, unnatural noise. True enough, he gave a few blinks in rapid succession and turned his head to the left, towards the noise. He looked confused for a moment, the expression making his nose scrunch up slightly as he cocked his head. Jean found the motion ridiculously endearing, although he knew better than to say so.

"Javert, is your work still keeping you up?" His partner visibly stiffened, preparing for another argument. He nodded slightly, eyelids fluttering even with the small motion. Valjean inched further forwards, looking over Javert's shoulder at the report he was writing. The last few paragraphs were an inky mess, with lines where he had fallen asleep and the pen had wandered or simply unintelligible scrawl in the place of coherent sentences. Jean sighed, though it was part-chuckle really, and ever so gently, he reached out and rubbed Javert's shoulder slightly.

"A lack of sleep will only affect the quality of your work, my dear. It'll look far better if you do it in the morning, after a rest - come on. This isn't healthy and you know it." He could feel Javert trying his best not to lean into the touch, and failing miserably. He was winning now, surely. But then...

"No, no, I can't. I know what you're trying to do, Valjean, and it won't work. I must get this done and I must do it now." Jean scowled.

"Javert, when will you finally see that you can't keep doing things like this? I'm worried about you, you haven't slept properly in three days!"

"I have no choice, I must keep doing this. They are giving me less cases and more paperwork - I'm getting old. If I can't do this right, what _can_  I do?"

Jean's eyes narrowed, and his hands formed fists involuntarily. It pained him to hear his lover degrade himself so. "That is it. That is it, Javert!" He didn't miss the second little jump Javert gave at the exclamation, as though waiting for a blow. It hurt something inside of him to see it, but something had to be done. Circling the desk until he stood before Javert, he bent down and heaved, lifting it off the ground. (Granted, he was not as young as he had been in Montruil-sur-Mer, but he could still hoist a decently heavy weight. He would perhaps have saved himself the trouble and lifted Javert himself off to bed, if it weren't for having to factor in a great deal of excess kicking and screaming on the inspector's part.)

He turned as quickly as he could, edging the piece of furniture through the doorway, and continued his journey into the large kitchen. With a slight grunt, he put the piece of furniture down, checking that none of Javert's precious paperwork had been tipped from the desk. When he was satisfied in that, he backed out of the kitchen and promptly locked the door behind him.

(Later on, he went to the chest-of-drawers on which they kept a small old teapot with which they watered the plants, slipping the key inside via the spout. Despite his frantic searches for the key well into the next day, Javert never quite cottoned on to its bizarre location.)

When he returned to the now far emptier study, Javert had sunk back into his chair and was staring blankly through the doorway, giving confused spluttering noises and occasionally gesticulating with his hands. Oh dear - he hoped that he had not driven the man to madness. (At least, not utter madness. A slight degree of insanity was required for the two of them to compute with one another at all.) With a self-satisfied smile, Valjean approached him once more and crouched until they were eye to eye.

"I believe you may have no choice but to come to bed, my dear. It would seem that your work has run away with you again. Or rather, it has just run away. Altogether. Without you. Which is possibly my fault."

He was met with burning eyes in a tired face, to which he responded by rising to his feet and pulling the inspector with him. He continued smiling, a gentle hand rubbing Javert's elbow as he guided him upstairs amid cross, half-hearted protests.

"Jean, you're quite mad, I can't believe you-"  
"Shhhhh...."  
"You can't just -"  
"It appears I can."  
"I have to-"  
"Sleep, yes, I quite agree. Come on, then."  
"It's imperative that I-"   
"Javert, if you won't leave your paperwork I'm afraid it shall have to leave you. I did warn you, multiple times."

Eventually Javert's protests died down. (This may have happened when Valjean turned a pair of pleading hazel eyes on him. It may not have.) After being helped into his nightclothes, he finally relented and burrowed under the bedclothes to reappear by Valjean's side.

In their preparations for bed, the door is neglected and left to swing completely shut. But somehow, strangely enough, Valjean can't bring himself to mind this time, when the blankets are warm and he is snuggled into Javert's side, moving in and out with each steady breath. As long as this man is by his side he will quite happily make a home in the darkness, where the light in their eyes and that of the stars in Javert's tales is enough.

(In the morning, they will bicker about who is allowed into the kitchen to get breakfast, an argument that ends with Jean buying them breakfast at the cafe down the street. They will drink their coffee together in the early spring sun and one calloused hand will cover another, a silent apology for things said wrong and done wrong and thought wrong. A third hand will cover that one, saying much the same thing, and there will be no more flinches or raised voices or lonely late nights curled up, staring at the ceiling. There will only be light.)


End file.
